Homecoming
by AquaRias
Summary: Harry Potter was sick of living, until an accident brings him to the most interesting of places. He was almost glad that nothing happened the way he had meant it to, because if everything had gone to plan he would never have found his home. Bruce/Harry AU/EWE
1. Lifeless

**Homecoming**  
_By AquaRias_

**Summary: **Harry Potter was sick of living, until an accident brings him to the most interesting of places. He was almost glad that nothing happened the way he had meant it to, because if everything had gone to plan he would never have found his home. Bruce/Harry AU/EWE

**Disclaimer: **Nothing is owned by me and this is not for profit, purely for entertainment.

**Warnings**: Slash (Bruce/Harry, possibly other character pairings also both het and slash) Some violence, some sex scenes much later on, some swearing. Currently rated T could go M later on but a new warning will be given if that happens.

**Note: **Haven't written for Avengers before, but hopefully I'm not too noobish. Mostly movie based but some comic/cartoon characters or events may be mentioned later. Set post DH but epilogue is clearly ignored. My Bruce in this fic is based off the 2008 "Incredible Hulk" Bruce, (Edward Norton) because I like him better (No offence Mark Ruffalo) and will follow the Incredible Hulk storyline in the beginning as well as the Avengers storyline. I have taken some liberties (because this is fanfiction god dammit) with magic, Master of Death etc. I realise it isn't canon, but that's why it's an AU people. Please let me know what you think :) This chapter is more of a prologue to let everyone know the context and what is happening, the actual fic will be written very differently style. tense and POV wise. Sorry if it's boring but that info has got to be given somehow, will be more interesting next chapter I promise.

**Chapter one:** Lifeless

He had never planned to be where he was. In all honesty, it was completely the result of an accident. A rather fortunate accident with far reaching consequences, but an accident nonetheless.

If he'd had his way, Harry James Potter wouldn't be among the living at all - if he had his way, he would have joined his loved onces in a final, peaceful slumber.

But he didn't have his way at all, and perhaps that was very fortunate...because if everything had gone to plan he would never have ended up where he was - he would never have found his home.

-.-.-.-

Harry Potter was sick of living. Decades of watching life progress while you yourself remained completely stationary could have that affect on a person, and Harry was no exception. For more then a century he had watched from afar as the people he loved grew old and died, as the places he knew evolved and changed.  
He watched as the wizarding community moved into the open following his defeat of the Dark Lord, and he quietly viewed as muggles and wizards learnt to live in harmony. He witnessed the first wizarding and non-wizarding treaty that would soon see the integration of muggle and wizarding schools, living areas and workplaces.

While for the main part he existed as a recluse, holed up in his ancestral home with very little interaction with the outside world, there were a few instances in which he braved the 'real' world and returned to the public eye. One of these was Ron and Hermione's wedding - another was their funerals. He attended many more of his friends' funerals, some earlier then others; Ginny Weasley died only years after final battle in an unfortunate quidditch accident while playing for the Chudley Canons.  
The final funeral he attended was that of his good friend and confidant in recent years, Neville Longbottom. Neville had been a resilient fellow, and had lived to the ripe age of one hundred and forty seven before being laid to rest by his three daughters and eight grand children. That had been the very last time Harry left his sanctuary, his ties to the world now broken he felt he had no reason to leave.

It hadn't taken long after becoming the Master of Death for Harry to realise that something wasn't right - just a few years after the final battle it was becoming apparent that while his friends grew and changed with time, Harry was stuck. Unable to age, unable to change and as it became apparant later on, unable to die. The relisation that he would one day be completely alone once his friends passed on had been staggering, and was the main reason Harry found it difficult to live in society.

After years of being alone, Harry found himself thinking of things he had never before considered - his mind went to dark places, wondering and calculating what it might take to actually destroy him. He knew by now that he was immune to many common causes of death- for example, he could not die from strangulation, or lack of air. Bloodloss also would not kill him, although he did fall unconscious after enough blood was shed, and remained that way until his body had a chance to regenerate the lost blood cells. Stopping his heart also seemed only to render him unconscious until it mysteriously would restart on it's own - the same could be said of all his vital organs.

The answer came to him out of no where one morning, and left quite the impact on him. So much so that he could not stop thinking about it for days on end, until finally he decided to give it a try. Resigned to his life alone though he was, he still could not quench the lingering hope that maybe this solution would work; just maybe he could finally move on and join his friends and family in peace.

Armed with a dangerous idea and a deadly resolve, Harry prepared to apparate. He had no idea what would happen, or even if it was possible to apparate so far - since becoming the Master of Death his magic had been amplified, but also changed. He no longer required a wand or words to perform his spells, but he also didn't have the reserves of a normal wizard. Instead of channeling the magic through his wand and thus using less of his core, Harry had to siphon the magic straight from his core and focus it into his spells with sheer willpower. It took several decades to perfect, but once controllable he was as efficient as any normal wizard - the only downfall being that he had to be very careful not to use too much. While draining his core had not yet managed to kill him, it had sent him deeply unconscious for weeks on end while his core recuperated from the overuse of his magic.

Taking one final deep breath Harry gathered both his resolve and his willpower, before reaching for that bundle of magic for all he was worth. He would definitely need all of it to make this jump because the destination was so very far away - he was headed to outer space.

When Harry regained consciousness he was breathless - literally. There was no oxygen to be found, and his body was careening through space, seemingly with no direction. He felt an impossibly strong tugging, like the strongest of winds was attempting to blow him away. He opened his eyes in time to see a huge swirling mass of black energy, before being swept inside.


	2. Fever

**Homecoming**  
_By AquaRias_

**Note: **Thanks for all your responses so far, I really appreciate people taking the time to let me know what they think. This would have been out yesterday, but I ended up seeing "The Dark Knight Rises" and got a little sidetracked. Oh my God, that movie was fucking amazing - I wasn't too fond of the very, very end (final scene) and if you see it you will see why, but still one of the best movies I have seen. It beats the Avengers, and had me far more interested, so if you are into DC comics as well, hang in there for a possible Dark Knight fic in the near future.

**Chapter two: **Fever

A slight, young man hurried along a dirt path, following closely in the footsteps of a very young girl native to the area. He had arrived in Cambodia a little over a week ago, and it had soon become apparent that something was not quite right in the small town he was residing in. A disease was ravaging the country, taking many of the native Cambodians, both young and old, into a deep fever which death seemed to readily follow. As a kind hearted man, Dr. Bruce Banner had elected to stay and help the poverty stricken village in any way that he could - though not a medical doctor by training, he had picked up much of the healing craft on his travels and could certainly do much more then the locals were able to.

"Through here," the young girl said in her native speech, pointing to a small hovel tucked away behind the trees. Though not a speaker of the native language, he understood enough basic words to grasp the gist of the Cambodian dialect.

He entered the house to be almost blown away by the heat inside, the smell of inscence also strong in the air. "Thank you," he nodded to the young girl. "I will see what I can do." She looked at him blankly, not comprehending the english he spoke. He sighed and shook his head, before moving towards the bed in the corner that held two elderly people.

"Hello," he murmured as he murmured as he approached. "I am here to help." He reached down to feel first the man's forehead, and then the womans. Both were cold and lifeless, despite the heat from the fire. He frowned, and reached around the man to try and turn him onto his back. Once turned his fears were confirmed - the couple had been dead long before he arrived. The fever worked quickly, some he had watched as their hearts stopped only hours after they showed the first feverish symptoms. He slowly reached for the blanket, and places it over their faces before turning to face the confused girl in the corner.

"I am very sorry," he started in stilted Khmer. "They..." He paused, searching for the words. "Have passed." The girl merely stared at him, not comprehending. "They are gone." He tried again. "There is nothing I can do for them." Realization dawned and her face fell, a tear slipping from her eye. He watched for a moment or two, before slowly approaching the young girl - she couldn't be more then seven years old.

"I am so sorry." He said quietly, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Let me take you to the centre." In the centre of the village there was a large shelter where children who had been orphaned by the fever were being looked after by some of the village elders. They were already very full, but Bruce hoped they would find the room for this little girl.

The walk back to the village centre was slow and morose, the young girls' energy was clearly drained by her ordeal. By the time they reached the centre, the sun was beginning to rise over the trees, showering the village in a soft golden light. It was a beautiful place, that was for sure. Even the suffering of its people could not take away from the natural beauty of the land.

He lead the girl over to the large shelter in the middle of the village, where an elderly woman was standing at the door. "Another one?" She asked in heavily accented English, while shaking her head.

He nodded grimly, motioning for the young girl to step forward. "She was living with her grandparents, her parents passed a few days ago. By the time I arrived it was too late." The woman nodded, reaching out her hand for the young girl to take.

"Come with me then, we will get you something to eat." She said softly in Khmer, motioning to the shelter behind her. She turned, before pausing and glancing back at the doctor. "There is a sick man here." She pointed to a corner where a single form was bundled in blankets. "Can you help him, or take him away? We can't have him here with the healthy ones." She frowned again. "Perhaps just take him to the edge of the village. I think he is too far gone to save."

Bruce glanced over to the corner and nodded. "I will do what I can." the woman nodded sharply, before leading the young girl away. Bruce made his way over to the pile of blankets, moving some of them to the side so he could see underneath. The sight that met him was unexpected - instead of the native man he was expecting, unconscious beneath the blankets was a young caucasion man, only a kid really. He was pale, though most likely from the effects of the fever, and his dark hair was laden with sweat and grime.

"Kid, can you hear me?" He said softly, shaking the boys' shoulder. There was no response, not that he had expected one - the boy seemed to be in the final stages of the fever. "Can I get some meds over here?" He raised his voice, directing his query to one of the elderly women near by. They had discovered that common over the counter drugs such as ibuprofen seemed to relieve the fever some; it was by no means a cure, but those who had access to even common medication seemed to have a higher survival rate then those who didn't.

Medicine, however, was not easy to come by in towns such as the one he was in, and the woman was quick to shake her head. "We cannot waste on him." Her English was stilted, but passable as far as the natives usually went. "He is gone now."

"He is still alive!" Bruce argued, pointing to the shallow rise and fall of the young mans' chest. "We can help him!" The woman merely shook her head.

"Not enough to waste. Take him away before he infects the children." With this final comment the woman moved along, not sparing him a second glance. Bruce sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He felt for the boys' pulse, and was surprised to find it slow, but strong. "He has a chance." He muttered, shaking his head.

The boy wasn't going to get a chance here, that was for sure. If he could just get him some medication, the kid might live. "Alright." He sighed, removing the blanket completely from the boy before hoisting him into his arms. He was not a particularly strong man being of such a thin build, and his own home was right on the outskirts of the village, but if he could get the kid to his house he could give him the medication he required.

The trek was slow, much slower then his previous journey with the young girl. He had to stop every several hundred yards to readjust the dead weight of the boy, and by the time he reached his door he was well and truly exhausted. He pushed the door open and moved towards the thin mattress on the floor in the middle of the room, gently depositing down his cargo. "Let me get you some medicine." He muttered, stretching his arm which had cramped rather badly on the journey.

A few minutes later and the boy was wrapped up in some warm blankets, the fire warming him where the blankets could not. Bruce had used the last of his ibuprofen on the kid and had given him as much water as he could force down his throat. The rest was up to the boy, and up to fate.

-.-.-

Harry had first regained consciousness in the middle of a forest. This was unexpected and disconcerting - because really, how does one manage to get from outer space to a forest? A second glance revealed he was surrounded by very, very green trees that were so tall and spaced together so closely that only a few specks of sky were visible. He was lying in the midst of equally green, long grass; had he been standing, it would have reached at least his waist.

His second observation was that it was raining. Not just a typical English drizzle, but full on, pelting rain. He slowly lifted an aching arm up to his face to attempt to wipe away some of the water running into his eyes, only for it to be almost instantly replaced by more of the same persistent rain water.

He groaned, dragging himself to a sitting position, and became acutely aware of the fact that his _entire_ body ached from head to toe. Just the effort of sitting had him gasping for breath, the ache in his muscles turning into a low searing sensation as he breathed. He couldn't help wondering in that moment what he could possible have gotten himself into, to end up in a strange forest in the pouring rain, when by all accounts he should be dead. Or at the very least, floating through space in an unconscious state.

"I guess that didn't work then." He rasped, his voice barely audible against the din of the pouring rain. Loud voices suddenly cut through the sounds of the rain, causing him to jerk in surprise.

"He was right here, I saw it! A man in the grass!" A foreign language Harry couldn't ever hope to understand rang in his ears, before a young dark skinned man emerged from the trees in front of him. "Look! There he is!" Harry blinked at the man, not understanding a word he was saying.

Another man stepped out of the trees, this one older and seemingly in charge. "I see you were right." He said in his language, moving closer with the younger man. "You did indeed see a white man lying in the grass."

"I told you!" The younger man announced, peering closer at Harry.

"I am sorry..." Harry tried, clearing his throat in an attempt to make it cooperate. "I do not understand your language." The two men looked at him blankly, shaking their heads. It seemed that they did not understand his either then.

"Let's take him to the others. We won't leave him here in the rain." The older man decided, before reaching out a hand to Harry.

Harry wearily studied the man before accepting his hand. Where ever they were going, at least it would be better then out in the rain. The younger man approached his other side, and supported his weight. Walking between the two men was hard enough, Harry couldn't imagine having tried to walk on his own. It was a slow limp through the forest for several minutes until other voices could be heard over the rain. At least five other people, conversing in the strange dialect that had no meaning to Harry.

They emerged from the trees to an unexpected sight - four donkeys, three of them laden with packs, were being lead by six other dark skinned men.

"We are traders." The older man announced, seemingly uncaring that Harry could not understand a word. "We are heading to the Osdao village, you may join us if you wish."

Harry shook his head, motioning to his ears. "I don't understand. Does anyone speak English?" Blank looks were all he received in return, until he was thrust forward to the nearest donkey. Harry looked from the donkey to the man, who wore an expectant look on his face. Did they really want him to ride the donkey?

The man made a motion to simulate mounting, before pointing again to the donkey. Harry sighed before moving closer to the animal. "I don't know how to..." Before he could finish, he found himself being easily lifted by a very large man who had been leading the donkey. He was quickly hoisted onto the animals back, where he proceeded to sway and almost fall off. The man steadied him, smiling slightly. Harry had a very strong feeling that he was being laughed at by these foreigners.

"Silly foreigner." The large one chuckled. "He does not know how to ride a donkey!" The others smiled and laughed, before beginning to move forward once more.

Harry tried his hardest to remain alert in such an unfamiliar place, but after a few hours of the same scenery he felt his eyelids begin to droop and before he knew it he was falling into the unconscious world once more.

-.-.-

When he woke, he was surprised to find himself lying by the warm heat of a camp fire. The foreigners were all sat around the fire, talking and laughing in their strange language. He sat up slowly and rubbed his eyes, clearing the last remnants of sleep sway.

A hand clasped on his shoulder, and he looked up to see the large man from before offering him a bowl of some kind of soup.

"Eat. It is nice, we have all had some." Harry didn't understand the words, but the gesture was obvious.

"Thank you." He replied as he accepted the bowl, pleased to note his voice was sounding more like normal.

"You will have to walk tomorrow." The man continued, a worried frown spreading across his face. "We are only one day away from the village, but one of our men has fallen ill." Harry did not understand the words, but followed where he pointed to see the younger man who had found him the day before asleep on the ground. His forehead was sweaty and his breathing shallow, he looked to have some kind of fever. "He will need the donkey, tomorrow you walk." The man made a walking motion with his hands, and Harry understood.

He wasn't sure how well walking would turn out for him in the morning - his body still ached as if he had been run over by a truck - but he supposed he didn't have much of a choice. "Is he okay?" Harry asked, pointing to the man and using some basic sign language to make himself understood.

The large man frowned, before raising his hand flat in the air. "We are not sure. At the vilalge, they will be able to help."

Harry didn't know what he was saying, but his tone betrayed his uncertainty. He frowned glancing again at the sick foreighner, who had began to moan in his sleep. It looked like Harry really would be walking in the morning at this rate; his back ached just at the thought of the trek ahead.


	3. Awareness

**Homecoming**  
_By Aquarias_

**AN: **Sorry for the slight delay, I have been away 'surviving' in the wilderness (read: Starving to death in batshit no where/some random place in Queensland) for a cross country training camp with no phone signal, let alone internet access! Thanks for all your reviews and people favouriting/alerting this story, I really appreciate it! Also, I lost track of who I had replied to and who I hadn't for the last chapter, so if you reviewed and did not receive a reply I am very sorry! I appreciated it anyway, even if I didn't say so.

**Chapter three: **Awareness

The morning dawned dark and cold, the huge black clouds blocking out the sun and threatening to release torrential rains at any moment. The loud crashing of thunder was enough to pull Bruce from his sleep, causing him to jerk awake with a start. He lay on his mattress for a few moments, listening as the rain began to fall. Within moments it had become a loud hammering on the tin roof, and a few drops had started to leak through.

With a jolt he suddenly remembered the boy he had brought back to his hovel just a few hours before, and he quickly stood up to check how he was. He approached the bundle of blankets near the fireplace with caution, and was relieved to see the rise and fall of the blankets signifying that the boy had at least survived the night.

He placed his hand on the boys' forehead and was shocked to find it significantly cooler then just two hours ago - it was still clammy, but the fever had definitely receded and it now seemed more likely that the boy would pull through.

"What a miracle." Bruce muttered, shaking his head. By the time he had finally given up and gone to sleep, it had seemed very unlikely that the boy would make it through the night. His fever had kept rising despite the medicine and his breathing had become increasingly shallow. It was therefore almost impossible for such a huge turn around in a very short amount of time. "Lucky kid." Bruce smiled, glad that the boy would hopefully make it.

He was Caucasion and wearing European clothes, so it was more then likely that he was a tourist of some kind that had been separated from his family. Bruce decided he would have to try and find out if anyone knew where he had come from, so that he could let his family or traveling companions know where he was.

A few minutes later, after pouring some more water down the boys' throat, he headed out to the village centre to try and find out more about his house guest. He quickly searched for the woman who had first pointed the boy out, and found her tending to a sick child in the shelter.

"Oh, you again." She said briskly. "We have many more sick, many more." She shook her head. "No more medicine now."

Bruce frowned, the night before there had been no children in the shelter sick at all. The boy he had taken home had been the only child in the shelter with the fever. "It is spreading more quickly then?" He asked with concern.

She nodded. "It is. That boy must have passed it on to them." She suddenly looked very angry at the thought. "The elders say all his fault!" Her English was a little more stilted when she was angry. "All his fault." She shook her head angrily.

"What do you mean?" Bruce frowned.

The woman turned to face him properly, a look of disgust on her face. "Traders pick him up. They not know where he was from. Brought him here. Brought sickness upon us. White sickness, that we cannot cure. We have no sickness here like this."

From what Bruce knew of modern medicine, this was not true. But in small villages such as this, it was very common for supernatural reasons to be found for common ailments. Plagues were blamed on human wrongdoings, floods were blamed on the wrath of a higher power, and sickness was apparently blamed on foreigners.

Bruce decided not to address that for the time being, and instead questioned her about the boy. "Did they find anyone else with him?"

She shook her head. "He was alone. Traders said he did not speak our language, they not speak his. Found him in rain, brought him here. Said he was sick."

"He already had the fever?" Bruce asked curiously.

She paused before shaking her head once. "No. Not fever, sick with something else. Traders got sick same time he arrived. Village got sick once traders came. Sickness is from him. White sickness."

Bruce frowned once more, trying to make sense of her bad English. "Can I speak to the traders? Are they still in the village?"

She nodded, and pointed to the north of the centre. "Four traders dead. one still sick, rest staying in village."

He nodded. "Thank you." He paused, and looked around at the sick children. "Do you need any help here?"

"No." She shook her head. "Help is coming. White people to treat white sickness. Less then few hours away, bringing white medicine."

Bruce nodded, assuming she meant one of the human aid groups that traveled around India helping where they could. Usually a village such as this would not accept outside help (they disliked him, one white man, living amongst them greatly enough as it was, hence his living quarters being situated on the edge of the village) but the situation had definitely gotten far enough out of hand to warrant them accepting the help of the white humanitarians.

A few minutes later he had reached the place indicated by the woman, where the traders supposedly were staying. He was met at the door by a large native man, who looked weary but well.

"Hello," he began in Khmer, remembering the woman telling him they did not speak English. "I was...asking if you recall the boy you brought..." he paused, trying to recall the words. "Boy you brought here. Sick."

The man nodded slowly, his face showing recognition and understanding. "Yes." He said simply. "I recall."

Bruce nodded. "He was...sick then? Before found him?"

The man paused, before shaking his head. "Not sick. Not really. Tired, injured. Been through an ordeal. Not sick, we found him in the rain and could not leave him alone. Could barely walk, he was in great pain."

"So he was injured?" Bruce frowned, he had seen no evidence of recent injuries on the boy while he had been tending to him.

The man shook his head again, slowly. "Not injured as such. No injuries. But in pain."

"Okay." Bruce nodded. "And no one with him? You don't...know where he was from?"

"No." He said once more. "We tried to ask, he did not understand us. We did not understand him."

"Okay, thank you." Bruce turned to leave with a sigh, no closer to figuring out where the boy had come from.

"Wait." The man called, regaining his attention. "We found him two days south, heading towards Angkor. You might try there if you are after answers, there is no where else close enough for him to have walked from."

"Thank you very much." Bruce nodded. "I...appreciate your time." The man nodded and went back inside, leaving Bruce to return to his home.

He was only halfway back, however, when he was stopped by a young native boy of about fifteen. "Sir," he began in Khmer. "The elders wish to see you."

Bruce sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Okay, take me then." He replied, wondering what the elders could possibly want with him. He generally had had very little to do with the village at all, it had only been since he was helping the sick that he had conversed with any villagers.

It was a silent ten minute trek back to the centre, before he was lead to a large structure in the centre where the elders met.

"Hello." He greeted as he entered, nodding to the four elderly men within. He stood before them, watching as they glanced between each other before one stood and spoke.

"Bruce Banner." His name sounded odd and stilted and was not pronounced correctly. "You have the sick white boy with you?"

"He is recovering at my home, yes." Bruce cautiously confirmed.

The old man frowned, shaking his head. "You must take him away. You were told to abandon him outside the village by Chea Khin. You did not, and now the sickness has spread to the children."

Bruce frowned, shaking his head. "I did not abandon him because he was not beyond saving. He is now recovering well."

"You must take him away." The first man repeated, a second standing to join him. "Take him before it spreads further."

"And where," he bit out, temper rising. "Do you propose I take him?"

"Take him with you. You are no longer welcome here, bad luck you have brought on our village and sickness he has brought." The man spat, seemingly having used up his good nature.

Bruce himself was beginning to anger, and he faintly recognized the beeping of his heart rate watch warning him of the danger. He forced himself to calm, drawing a long breath until the beeping slowed a little. The last thing he needed was for the other guy to make an appearance and destroy the village - ridiculous beliefs or not, they did not all deserve to die.

"Fine." He sighed, shaking his head. "But please give me a few days until he is well enough to travel. I will not leave him to die."

The first man turned and whispered something to the second who hastily whispered back. "Fine." He said, turning back to Bruce. "You may have three days. Now leave."

Bruce nodded his thanks before turning to leave the shelter.

-.-.-

It was two full days before the boy began to show signs of waking, though in those days his fever was almost completely diminished and the colour had begun to return to the boys' skin. He had a more healthy glow by the second day, and Bruce was now sure that he would make it - he just hope that the boy would wake before the third day, when they would be forced to leave the safety of the village.

By lunch time on the second day, Bruce was startled from where he had been deep in thought by the sound of a low moan. A quick glance over confirmed that it had indeed come from his young patient, and that his eyes were fluttering slightly.

"Hey." Bruce said softly, placing his hand on the boys' shoulder and shaking him slightly. "You awake?"

The boy groaned again, before his eyes finally drifted open. His eyes were a startling green, if a little foggy and glassy. He coughed weakly, looking like he was trying to speak.

"Wait." Bruce said, heading to the kitchen area to get some water. "Have some water." He placed the bottle at the boys lips, who quickly drank a large amount. Finally he pulled away, swallowing. "Where..." He whispered, his voice raspy. He coughed again, eyes widening as they fell on Bruce. "Who...?" Was all he managed, before his throat seemed to cut out again.

"My name is Bruce, you are in my house in a Cambodian village. You were sick, do you remember?" Bruce said gently, trying not to alarm the young man.

The boy nodded slowly, before wincing - presumably from pain. "Traders." He rasped, and Bruce nodded the affirmative. "Brought me here?"

"Yes. That was several days ago, you have been very sick." Bruce explained. "I am a doctor, of sorts."

"You helped me?" He asked, eyes focusing on Bruce once more. Bruce nodded again. "Thank you." The boy said, sincerity ringing in his voice and showing in his eyes. "You didn't have to do that."

"Don't be silly." Bruce reprimanded softly. "Of course I did. Now, do you know where your family is? Your companions?" The boy stared blankly with no answer. "You didn't travel to Cambodia on your own, did you?"

The boy shrugged, seemingly not wanting to answer. "Okay." Bruce sighed. "Well what is your name?"

The boy paused, seeming to argue with himself internally. "Harry." He finally answered.

"Okay Harry." Bruce replied. "Well why don't you have something to eat, you must be starving?"

He waited again, before shrugging. "I'm okay." He said softly, eyes falling to the ground.

"Hey." Bruce placed a hand on his shoulder, noting his slight flinch at the contact. "Don't worry about it, I have plenty." He smiled, motioning to the kitchen. "You really should eat."

"Okay, thank you." The boy whispered, lying back down. Bruce left him to fix him some food, deciding on a simple soup that would hopefully not irritate his empty stomach. The boy was thin - he had certainly lost weight with the illness and not eating for days, but it was clear he had been thin even before he had caught the fever.

By the time Bruce returned with the soup, the boy was asleep once more, curled up on himself. Bruce smiled, and set the soup next to the boy, glad that he was going to be okay.


	4. Adjustment

**Homecoming**

_By AquaRias_

**AN: Thanks for all your reviews, I appreciate them! Reviews definitely motivate me to write, as I feel like people are enjoying what I take the time to write, so it's always great to hear from you, no matter what you have to say!**

**Now onto the chapter, and in this one we are finally getting into it all!**

**Chapter four:** Adjusting

A few hours after waking, Harry was still trying to come to terms with his circumstances; in an attempt to finally end his prolonged life he had not only failed and found himself _still_ alive, but he had somehow been transported across continents and quite possibly universes in the process, only to somehow manage to contract a muggle illness and almost die in his weakened state. Not exactly what he had in mind when he had first made the decision to apparate to outer space, to see if the magical drain would finally force his mind and body to die.

Instead he was now in an unknown, but potentially hostile environment and his magic was almost non existent, both from the initial drain of the jump closely followed by the illness which had sapped whatever reserves he had managed to build up to keep his body once more alive.

He sighed, cursing his weak body as he was forced to remain in one place, his body still much too weak to attempt to leave. Thankfully the stranger who had taken him in appeared to be genuinely kind and considerate, claiming to be looking out for his well being….well, he _appeared _to be genuine, but if so many lonely years had taught him anything, it was that you never could be too sure of people's intentions.

The man who had offered Harry his hospitality was young, probably only in his mid to late twenties, but he came across much older and wiser – he had the somewhat jaded look of a man who had lived on the run and fought for his survival. It was a look Harry knew well, for he often saw it on himself when he looked in the mirror. The stranger who had introduced himself as 'Bruce' had lines on his face that probably shouldn't have been there just yet, and constantly gave off a nervous, unsure vibe like he was waiting for someone or something to burst through the windows and attack them. Harry had to admit, it wasn't the most comforting of attitudes to be around and it certainly did nothing to calm his own nerves about his uncertain situation.

He sighed once more, flopping back down onto the blankets. The man had gone out much earlier, presumably to go back to helping the other sick people, leaving Harry alone in the small shack. He cursed his weakness for what seemed like the hundredth time since waking; he wanted, _needed_ to get out of here but his muscles and bones were just too weak. Maybe tomorrow he would be stronger.

-.-.-

The stars were just starting to peak out from behind the clouds as the sun faded away when Bruce started to make his way back to his house. He had spent the day helping the sick once more, and despite the old woman telling him he wasn't needed, the aid group had sent only a few doctors to the village. They had brought with them many valuable supplies though, and Bruce had been astonished at the rate some of the villagers were now recovering since being administered with the proper medicines. Apparently the fever that had ravaged the area was quite common in third world countries and just as easily treated – if only the aid groups had arrived a week earlier, and many of the sick villagers who had succumbed to the fever may have been saved.

Despite the fact that he wasn't strictly needed, Bruce had not minded spending the day outside his home – his house guest seemed very awkward and nervous around him, making him think he would feel much safer without Bruce hanging around. He had therefore left plenty of food and water out for the boy, instructing him to eat and drink often, before leaving with the promise that he would be back around night fall. He was unsure if the boy would even stay once he left, as he seemed to be a flighty young man, but he had a sneaking suspicion that he would be physically too weak to leave for a day or two yet.

He had yet to tell the young teenager about the reactions of the village elders, and that their time in the village would soon be over. He didn't know if young Harry even had somewhere else to go, or if he too would just be wandering until he found a village more receptive of outsiders. Either way, the kid would have to go somewhere – they had only been allowed one more day to work things out before they would be forced to leave.

The teenager was a very quiet, shy boy and Bruce had been lucky to get maybe three sentences out of him so far. He would not tell him where he came from, nor his age or his last name. He spoke with a distinct British accent though which cemented the idea in Bruce's head that he was a tourist who had perhaps run away from his family or carers while touring Cambodia. He was recovering quickly from the illness, which was surprising considering how sick he had been, but Bruce was still not sure he would recover enough by the time they would have to leave.

Having finally reached his home on the outside of the village, Bruce opened the door and peered in, somewhat relieved to see the boy was still there and had not tried to leave while he was still so weak. He was however, asleep again, curled up by the fire.

Bruce would have to see how he was in the morning, and with any luck he would have kept up his quick rate of recovery and be ready to start moving in the morning – though Bruce somehow doubted it.

-.-.-

He awoke several hours later with a start as the sound of someone moving around his house jerked him quickly awake. "Who's there?" He said quickly, sitting up in the darkness and willing his startled heart rate to slow down.

There was a stretch of silence for a second, before a soft voice rang through the darkness. "No one, just me." It was the boy, his voice sounding a little stronger then the day before.

Bruce frowned, glancing to the window – it was still mostly dark outside, but the sun had just started to rise by the faint glow on the scenery. "Where are you going?" He said finally, eyes falling back on the teenager who was standing by the door.

"I have to go." The boy said softly. "Thank you for your hospitality, and for helping me." He turned toward the door, reaching out for the handle.

"Where will you go?" Bruce questioned, unable to keep the concern from his voice. He may not have known the kid for long, but he certainly hadn't saved the teenagers life so that he could run off in the middle of the night and most likely die before he reached civilisation. How would the young boy even make it to the next town, all on his own with no supplies? Never mind that he was very weak and still only just recovering from a serious illness.

The boy shrugged noncommittally, shaking his head slightly. "Thanks again." He said quickly, before opening the door and leaving the shack.

Bruce stood up quickly and followed him outside, calling out to him as he passed through the open door way. "Harry, wait!" There was no reply, and a quick search of the area showed absolutely nothing. He was gone.

-.-.-

Harry was exhausted. He had found the energy to apparate to the closest airport but he had only just made it, almost collapsing on the spot once he landed. He somehow made it to the front desk and used some less then savoury magic he had picked up over the years to get the woman at the counter to sell him a ticket to England without a passport or any documentation at all. Having bought the ticket, he then had to confund all the airport officials at the boarding gate, and the stewardess checking passports once he boarded the plane. Thanks to his wandless magic, he was finally on the way home – time to find out exactly where/when he was. Using the plane to sleep and refresh some of his reserves, he woke up as they landed in England feeling a tiny bit more energised, but still rather like he had been run over by the Knight Bus at full speed.

He decided to skip the confusion of having to spell the airport security and instead spelled himself invisible after he exited the plane, quickly travelling through the airport to a bathroom where he used his newly slightly regained reserves to make another apparition – this time to a familiar street in London that housed the old pub, The Leaky Cauldron.

Arriving on the street he had quickly made his way to where the Cauldron had always stood….only to find it completely absent. His mouth fell open as he stared at the muggle bookshop that was in its place, completely dumfounded.

"Where is it?" He muttered, quickly moving on from the bookshop to examine the other shops on the street. He rubbed his head, trying to quell the headache that had started to pound behind his eyes. He couldn't access the magical world, and there was a strong possibility that it didn't even _exist _in this dimension…universe, or wherever he was.

He tried not to dwell on it and moved on, apparating to a nearby hotel. He was now feeling as weak as he had before he left, and knew he had overused his magic that had only just started to replenish since his illness. His headache pounding worse then ever, he made his way to the counter and used one final spell to get himself a hotel room for the night, before collapsing on the bed once inside.

He had no money, no access to the wizarding world (if one even existed in this strange universe) and at this stage he also had very little magic. He was, despite being in a whole new world, once again utterly alone and he felt more lost and helpless then he had in a long time.

-.-.-

He spent the next few hours in his hotel room, trying to catch up on the differences of this world. He had access to a computer in the hotel lobby, which he managed to work out how to use the internet with the help of the Hotel staff. By all accounts this world was a bit different to where he had come from, the major difference being that he was technically in the past. He had left his world in the year 2106, but in this world the date was only March of 2017. It wasn't the same as the 2017 he remembered, however, there were several differences in the timelines that caused them to be very dissimilar. For one thing, muggle technology was far more advanced in this world then it had been at the same time in his own world. Some research showed that one main difference that might account for this was a man who had existed in this universe, but not in his own world – Howard Stark. An inventor and technological designer, many of the advanced technologies seen in this world were directly a result of his work.  
He had become well known around the time of the Second World War, and it was around that time that the major advances had happened. His own world was at least decades behind this one in technology, and some of the technology (mainly Stark Tech) did not even exist at all in 2106 of his own world.

Other important people popped up in this time that had not been present in his own, including a 'super soldier' and 'superhero', Captain America. Though now long dead, Captain America had apparently been the world's first superhero, who had been instrumental during the Second World War. Harry later managed to find out that Captain America had come to being by the result of a super soldier serum that had been developed with the help of Howard Stark – this was starting to make Harry believe that the main difference that had caused this world to diverge from his own was the existence of Howard Stark, as most of the differences in the timeline seemed to stem from something this man had done or influenced.

The one topic he was completely unable to find out anything on, was magic. There seemed to be no mention of his world on the internet, other then fantasy type stories or myths that had no real relevance. He had apparated back to the place where the leaky cauldron should be, and it had once again not been there. Harry had even tried visiting the phone box that in his world had been the entrance to the ministry of magic, but had no success there either. For all intents and purposes, the British wizarding world had seemingly vanished, if it had ever been there at all.

Harry was stumped and confused with no where to go…but he couldn't stay in this hotel forever. He had to find some answers, and soon.

-.-.-

"Sir, there has been another sighting." The voice cut in to his thoughts, jerking Director Fury of S.H.I.E.L.D out of his thoughts.

"Another?" He questioned, meeting the eyes of his loyal employee, Agent Phil Coulson.

Coulson nodded enthusiastically. "Yes sir. Security footage outside a hotel in London appears to show the same man, appearing out of no where."

Fury nodded with an almost sinister smile. "Show me the footage."

After viewing the footage Agent Coulson had intercepted, it was clear that it was indeed the same subject, appearing outside a London hotel. Even more curious was the fact that it was time stamped only eight minutes after the same figure was seen disappearing from the London airport bathroom, having somehow managed to board the plane and get through security with no passport or ID to speak of. The London airport staff and officers had been questioned, but all of them denied ever having seen the suspect, and the only other sighting of him on the surveillance footage was as he left the plane and entered the airport – after that nothing. Somehow he had managed to escape all the video cameras inside the airport, only to be seen as he miraculously disappeared into thin air on the camera inside the airport bathroom.

"He is still at the hotel?" Fury questioned, turning back to Agent Coulson.

"As far as I know, sir. He hasn't been caught on camera leaving since he arrived." Coulson replied, gesturing to the footage.

"Alright then." Furry nodded. "Send in a team for observation, but no one moves in on the target until I give the word."

"Yes sir."

**AN: There's chapter 4, almost onto the action now. If you liked it, please review! And if you didn't like it, then please let me know why so I can work on improving the story. I would love to hear from you! AR xx**


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